


Pack Mentality

by RedRarebit



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies)
Genre: Established Relationship, Gen, Graphic violence is an overstatement I just wanted to cover my bases, Look I just wanted to do a snippet from Peters childhood on the ship, M/M, and two emotionally constipated space pirates, dysfunctional space family, kid!Peter, sometimes a family is a kidnapped earth boy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-25
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-09-11 22:26:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9037337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedRarebit/pseuds/RedRarebit
Summary: Peter is soft, and its contagious. A snippet from Peters childhood.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Write_like_an_American](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Write_like_an_American/gifts).



> Heavily inspired by chats with the writer/artist of [Ask a Ravager](https://ask-a-ravager.tumblr.com) and for them too!

It had been a close battle. The four of them versus six of the other team of who-knows-who, who seemed to know where this cache had been hidden as well. Yondu half suspected they were crew from years back, though none of them had seemed too familiar. Neither team were particularly well armed, blaster-wise. There was always his arrow and his Kraglin, so the others had only been equipped with general blasters in case some of the wildlife got a little uppity. Yondu had laughed at the others, brandishing their weapons, and Kraglin had grinned that grin that made his stomach - well, not flip like a schoolgirls. More like flip like a blood-hungry ravager captain who was preparing to see a bloodbath, but the feeling was near enough the same. 

The arrow had whipped along at Kraglins heels as the others opened fire - Peter had even managed to hit one before the recoil on the damned thing seemed to pain him. Stupid really, giving a kid that unprepared a weapon, but what could you do? Yondu had expected him to be hunting Bracksnips for dinner, not shooting at people just as armed as he was. In the interest of protecting his future ransom money, Yondu had wasted valuable time shoving the child behind a rock and threatening him with more pain then death should he move from cover. The cut-off, choked howls of pain when Kraglin reached their attackers pleased him, and he straightened to check the progress. 

There was plenty of red, that much was good to see. Two of their attackers felled, two staggering under sustained blaster fire, one under Kraglins jaws losing more than the recommended daily allowance of bone and vital fluid. He admired the view for a moment, Kraglin rearing back with a snapping noise and a gurling sort of scream from the man under him. He spat out whatever it was that he'd bitten off him, glowering down at the meathole he'd gouged out of him. 

It was times like this, Yondu reflected, that he sometimes thought near the L-word about Kraglin. Skinny little fuck didn't look like much with his mouth shut, but open and furious, he was a special kind of purty.

It was that moment of distraction that might have - if he'd only been paying a little more attention - 

The howl of a sub-weapon cut through the air like a blade of heat, and Yondu felt the dull flare of Kraglins scream in the top of his skull before he was sure the sound even hit his ears. The noise trailed into gurgles too soon, too familiar, and Yondus blasting whistle in response felt like hours too late. There was a sudden, deafening silence while the last two bodies crumpled, one in gunmetal grey, the other in ravager red.

"Get to the ship." Yondu hollered, not looking over his shoulder as he booked it to the hunched form, Kraglin gagging and stifling wet sounding screams into the ground and his arms. "Get the ship here, get the medic, get me-" Get him Kraglin, get him something. Yondu skidded to a halt in the blood on his knees, hands careful but firm as he tried to assess the damage.

Some of the blood was from their enemies, that was fair. But too much was the almost violent red of Kraglins, enough to make him slip and have to steady himself. He shoved his arms around the other mans sides, trying to put enough pressure on whatever wound was there, enough to move him onto his back and assess.

Behind him, he heard Peter retch a little, stumbling in the mud. Had he enough presence of mind, he might have turned and told him to go back, but that was too late. There was a chunk missing from Kraglins side, the fabric of his coat and clothing burned away to reveal - flesh, underneath. Meat was a better term, parts missing and raw, something glistening and moving behind the thin walls of muscle. Everything looked torn, and Yondu pressed his palms to it as an instinctive reaction to keep the blood inside.

"Boy, cmere." He yelled, hating the hoarseness in his tone. "You're gonna help me get him to that cave there, keep the elements off him, we're gonna wait for the ship-"  


"I don't think you're meant to move him." Christ, how old was Peter again? Thirteen? Hell, at least this wasn't the first potentially dead body he might have seen and known. Yondu snarled and groped behind him, dragging the boy closer by his shirt. "Okay! Okay! I'll try!"

"You'll damned well do more then try! Man mighta given his life tryin' to defend you, you don't try you damned well do!" He shook Peter before letting him go and starting to get Kraglin to his feet. The wounded man made a few seething, wet noises of pain, spitting out blood and fluid as more sputtered down his side. 

Hraxlian anatomy, as it turned out, was a little bit weirder then Peter suspected human anatomy was. That was one of the few thoughts that seemed to keep drifting through his mind to stop him from falling to free-panic mode as quite a bit of Kraglins anatomy leaked over his side, hotter then any liquid had any right to be even through his too-big leathers. On Kraglins other side, Yondu was still cursing up a bluer then usual streak, supporting most of the mans weight as he dragged him to the nearby cave. He did his best not to collapse, trying to ease the sputtering, wheezing man onto his back as gently as he could. Yondu helped, sinking easily to his knees by Kraglins prone form, a hand smoothing over his brow carefully.

"Don't you die," Peter would deny he heard Yondu croon, voice low as thunder. "Captains orders. You don't die until you've paid me every last unit from that game. You owe me - two years you owed me, you aint dying til you paid me." Kraglin coughed something close to words, red and spittle staining his chin as Yondu hushed him again, giving a low, creeping sort of whistle.

"He's not gonna die, is he?" Peter asked when Yondu sat back on his knees, Kraglin gasping in gulps of air as he stared at the ceiling, his eyes wide with concentration. The tremble in Peters voice gave him away, and when Yondu looked at him, he noticed the Terran was a few shades paler than usual. Peter grimaced at Yondus look, his fists clenching tighter in his sleeves, his eyes screwing up in a way Yondu hadn't seen since the child had first come on board, always ready to burst into tears. Yondu snapped his fingers, pointing to the ground next to him.

"Cmere." For some reason, that seemed to terrify Peter, who shook his head frantically and scrambled back on the cave floor, cutting up his palms. Yondus face darkened unpleasantly. "Boy I said come here. I need you to."

"No!"

"I aint asking."

"No! No!" Peter yelled, Kraglin seeming to wince and shudder harder at the loud noises. "No no no! I'm not gonna!"

"You're gonna come and sit your scrawny behind right here because I need you to." Yondu yelled back, Peter drawing his knees up and hiding his face in them, fingers knotting in his hair and pulling as he screamed into his legs, trying to drown him out while his arms clamped around his head. "What the hells has gotton into you aint half as scary as I'm gonna be if you make me go over there you no good, worthless waste of space ballast! Peter, are you TRYING to kill him?"

"I don't wanna kill anybody!" Peter exploded back at him, lifting a blotchy red and white wet face to Yondus seething one. "I don't wanna!"

"Then you NEED to come here. Listen. Listen to me," Yondu tried to quiet his voice - control was slipping away from him, this was what happened when he didn't have that shadow at his back. He lost his damned temper and this was - this was not the time. "Listen. You remember, you remember how some of us species are different to yours, right?" Peters nod was encouraging. "Listen to me. Kraglin, his species is - its a super social kind, okay? Kinda. They need lots of people around em for their brains and their bodies to work better. So he needs someone, or a few people, just sittin near him while he's hurtin. Okay?"

"But-"

"You ain't even gotta look at him if you aint got the belly for blood." Yondu continued, moving over as carefully as he could manage with shaking nerves and irritation clean across his face. Peter was beginning to unfurl a bit, creeping over on shaking and bloodied hands until he was kneeling next to Kraglin, facing Yondu.

Better than nothing.

"I just gotta sit here, right?" Peter asked, his voice trembling. Yondu nodded, resisting the urge to touch the boys head - he gave in with an angry sigh, reaching roughly behind Peters hair and putting his hand in it, pulling it roughly against his arm for a moment. 

"You're doin a real important job, Peter." He said quietly, watching the flesh seize before Kraglin started hacking again. "I just need you to keep doin it for me, okay?"

~*~

Peter was glad to be shoved away, forgotten almost instantly once the whirr of a transport ship was heard. He was lost for a moment in the heavy thud of boots and yells, curses and sharp, barked orders in Yondus rough drawl. It was easy to slip on board with the group, sit out of the way while Kraglin screamed and fought Yondus grip as one of the medics poured something on his raw flesh.

If Peter stoppered his ears as best he could and whimpered lyrics to himself, that was fine too. It wasn't like anyone was paying any attention to him. He fled once they docked with the Eclector, slipping into his cabin and burying himself under the blankets with his music and his angry, frustrated tears. 

He hadn't done anything. The story of his life, the running theme in the Fuckups of Peter Quill, and it happened again.

He wandered for a while, for a few days after - he woke up after crying himself to sleep to the usual sounds of the ship at work, the whirring and the buzzing almost a comfort to him. He trailed his fingers along the rough edges of the halls, dodging or being dodged by taller, bigger people. There was nothing for him to do, no job had been assigned to him yet beyond shadowing people to see what they did, and no one seemed ready to collect him.  


Peter didn't like what that implied.

Against his will, he found his feet taking him to the medical wing. It was marginally cleaner, quieter, but Peter had avoided it almost superstitiously since he'd come on board. The cleaning products made his nose sting, hurt his head and his heart, but he found himself lingering outside the main doors at least four times before they slid open to admit someone else. He went through, as if that had been his plan all along, hands shoved deep into his pockets and staring at the tiles of the floor as if they held the answers to his destination.

"Peter?" A calm voice made him snap his head up, looking at a thin, birdlike woman peering at him. "Peter Quill?"

"Yeah." He cleared his throat, nodded, tried again. "Yes Ma'am."

"Are you looking for the Captain?" He shrugged, and she gestured to one of the doors. "He's in there." Done with him, she turned back to whatever she had been working on, measuring liquids into tiny, jelly-like forms. Peter moved to the door, wishing there was a glass window so he could see in without having to go in. It was solid metal, like everything else in the ship, forbidding. 

The door opened at his touch, as most doors did in the ship. It was dim inside, the only light coming from a weak bulb in the corner. He could see shapes - a bed, a machine or two, and the large form of Yondu half-sitting in a chair. Half, because one of his legs was up, slung on the metal frame of the bed, facing the other occupant of the room. His arms were folded and his head hung, and Peter assumed he was sleeping-

"Boy?" Yondus head lifted a little, eyeing the figure in the lit doorway. "Come in or go, just close the door. Man needs his rest."

"Are you mad at me?"

"No." Yondu replied after a long, long moment, his shoulders sagging a little bit. "No, I aint mad at you. Aint disappointed either. So you can come in if you want to. Reckon he'd like you to." Peter choked a little, burying the noise before he slipped in, the door sliding shut soundlessly behind him. He had to be careful as he walked, finding the edge of Yondus chair and gripping onto the sleeve of his coat, trying not to peer forward at the shape of Kraglin. 

He'd never seen him asleep before. He was always awake, always keeping an eye on something. Whenever they were on world and needed to sleep there, Kraglin was awake when Peter fell asleep, and awake when he woke up. He seemed to always be around when Peter woke up on the ship, uneasy and homesick and terrified all at once - walking the ship to remind himself how familiar he was with it now seemed to calm him, and he always seemed to find Kraglin on those walks, somewhere. Tired, sure, but awake and waiting for him, eyes dark and sharp, quick with a jibe or a tease or a - 

A question. Just a simple 'yokay?' that no one else really afforded him, Kraglin searching his face as if assessing for truth. He had no doubt that the Hraxlian would know in an instant if he was lying, so he didn't bother to, most of the time. Most of the time, if something was wrong, it would be a little better next time he encountered it, if he found it again at all.

"Is he gonna die?" Peter whispered, watching the shallow rise and fall of the mans bony ribs. It was hard to tell through all the bandages and clear plastic wrapped around him, but he could see it in the rise and fall of the blanket, the dry rasp following each breath in Kraglins lungs. 

"No he aint gonna. But he was hurt real bad, so hes gonna be off his feet for a lil while." Yondus tone suggested that there had been a real chance of Kraglin never getting back on his feet again, and Peter unconsciously rubbed the leather of his sleeves between his fingertips for a moment. 

"Yondu? Why did he - why did he run into em like that?" He asked, not looking away from the coat he was fiddling with. "I mean - he could have a blaster, couldn't he?"

"I gave him one." Yondu snorted a little at the memory, the insulted look on Kraglins face before he conveniently lost it. "But where he comes from, theres - its hard t'explain, you aint old enough to understand."

"You can still tell me, and I am old enough!"

"Where he comes from," Yondu didn't laugh at him outright, though there was a snort in his tone that suggested he didn't think Peter would get it. "Theres no - no greater pride then in fightin for the people you care about. Really fightin for them, showin em you're willing and ready to go right into the jaws of death and walk out the otherside if you need to."

"So he only fights like that when you're there?"

It was the thing they didn't talk about. The thing Peter knew about Yondu and Kraglin, the thing the whole ship knew but didn't talk about beyond sly jabs and teases that had no real sting behind it. Peter wasn't sure if he was supposed to know, but they'd never made any effort to shield him from the grosser side of things, but this... This felt like something he wasn't supposed to talk about, this willingness to do something so final for the other.

"Course not. He's a professional." Yondu snorted a little, giving Peter a little shove that softened, palm on his shoulder. "Sides. You were there too. Hell of a lot more defenseless than I was, too." 

"Why would he fight because I was there?" Peter wrinkled his nose, giving Yondu a flat little look. "I don't matter. I'm not stupid." The blue man looked back at him for a few moments, his expression closed and unreadable before he sighed. 

"He's - its like a pack thing, Peter." Yondu gave him a pat before letting go, settling back in his seat. "I told you y'wouldn't understand. Go on now."

"Are you coming?"

"No, boy. I got things to do here. I'll be on the bridge a while tomorrow, go on. Get, enjoy your lil holiday." He snorted when Peter perked a little and scurried off, the door shutting behind him and leaving the room dim. Yondu felt the warmth in the root of his crest before he could pick out the scant light reflected in the slits of Kraglins eyes, bloodshot and tired though they were. 

"Y'gettin soft." The man in the bed croaked at him, his tone betraying the slightest hints of fondness that Yondu felt twitching in his scalp. He grumbled, resisted the urge to punch him and settled for tweaking his leg painlessly.

"So're you."


End file.
